


then there are blackbirds

by glass_icarus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-15
Updated: 2009-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glass_icarus/pseuds/glass_icarus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>You ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the sundown, and a dog as large as myself that my father bought me. They are better than human beings, because they know but do not tell.</i>-- Emily Dickinson</p>
            </blockquote>





	then there are blackbirds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamdustmama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamdustmama/gifts).



> Written for dreamdustmama for the 2009 RS Small Gifts exchange. Title borrowed from Joy Harjo's _Desire_.
> 
> Thanks to such_heights and whymzycal for looking this over, and to dreamdustmama for the wonderful prompt!

Remus wakes, shivering, to the first frost of the winter, intricate needles twining up the edges of the windowpanes. Wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, he shuffles into the kitchen to make tea.

Out of habit, he boils enough water for two.

\--

Life is simpler, here in the hills. Remus spends his mornings tending the small collection of potted plants on the windowsill (basil, rosemary, lavender, and mint) and poring over obscure texts from Dumbledore, devoting his afternoons to Order business. The rhythms of Hogwarts are difficult to erase- Remus still wakes fifteen minutes before breakfast is served in the Great Hall, still opens the window for the school owl every morning, still finds himself anticipating classes that he no longer has to teach- but in the calm silence of the forest that surrounds him, the loss of his students and his former place in the world is no longer so hard to bear.

(Dumbledore writes: _Your contacts in Romania are growing restless._ Dumbledore writes: _Moody reports that there has been increased Death Eater activity in London._ Dumbledore writes: _There is an interesting collection of rare books at a certain library in Bath._ Dumbledore does not write: anything about Sirius's whereabouts or activities, even in the most obscure of terms. Remus cannot decide whether this is a good sign for Sirius's security, or merely _extremely frustrating_.)

Sometimes there are owls in the evenings, too. None of them are from Sirius.

Snape sends him the Wolfsbane regularly, for which Remus is grateful, although he continues to reinforce the containment charms on the root cellar once a month. The piercing ache of the last twelve years of transformations has changed to a restlessness that he finds difficult to shake, even when the moon isn't full. Sometimes he gives in to it, walking the hills after dark alone and unafraid, until the blood pounding in his ears comes from physical exertion and not the dizzying whirl of his thoughts.

\--

He goes into town once a week to buy groceries, taking comfort in the polite disinterest of the townsfolk. There are a few curious people who try to make small talk, but Remus knows how to make himself forgettable. He cultivates a mild eccentricity that makes his "foibles" unremarkable- such as the fact that he buys vast quantities of red meat on every fourth trip- but is careful never to seem too mysterious or antisocial. He stops by the pub to keep up on local gossip, the sort that he can't get from the papers or his flurry of correspondence, often enough that he befriends the owner, who eventually lets him tend the bar on the odd night.

He doesn't realize what he's looking for until he hears someone mention a stray dog, black and skinny and nearly half a man's height. Remus goes home that evening and waits through the night, his heart in his throat, for a sign that never comes. There are no paw prints in the morning, no signs of animals lingering in the tall grass. Remus stares at his front yard, feeling bruised.

He runs into the dog by the greengrocer's shop a few days later, startling the shopkeeper's assistant, who is setting out a bowl of scraps. The dog is a black labrador. Remus bites back a rueful laugh at the assistant's guilty face and goes home again, his heart lighter. Sirius never did like to come announced.

\--

The days pass. Dumbledore is still as close-mouthed as ever, and there is no news of Sirius to be had beyond the sensationalist tabloids in the newsstands Remus passes in Diagon Alley when he goes to buy materials for his charms and wards. Remus considers writing to Harry, but decides against it- Harry has enough to deal with at school, and he doesn't want to jeopardize Sirius's safety unnecessarily.

He goes out walking at night more often, wandering longer and farther each time. It helps more often than he expects it to.

The greengrocer's assistant has adopted the stray labrador, or at least developed a strong cupboard-love relationship. On a particularly lonely Saturday, Remus walks to town in the morning and spends an hour or two playing with the dog, throwing sticks for it and teaching it tricks and generally indulging their mutual need for affection. Digging his fingers into its slowly-rounding belly, Remus closes his eyes against the sunshine and _wants_.

\--

It is nearly dusk by the time he trudges home slowly, laden with fresh eggs and ham and a new box of tea. Closing the door without bothering to turn on the lights, he heads for the kitchen to put away his bags.

A floorboard creaks behind him.

" _Lumos. Revelare. Petrificus-_ " Remus stops, lowering his wand. "Padfoot?"

Sirius shifts. "Sorry, Moony."

"I have wards against Animagi," Remus says, frowning.

"I know. I couldn't break them; I followed you inside when you got home."

"You didn't write."

"No." Sirius swallows. "I wasn't sure if you wanted me to."

" _Idiot_." Remus reaches for him, only dimly aware of his wand clattering to the floor, the faint _crack_ of an eggshell as he drops the groceries.

"You smell like dog," Sirius mumbles inanely into his shoulder, hands fisted tightly in Remus's shirt. Remus has to laugh.

"Get used to it, you mangy mutt."

\--

It is late afternoon, the shadows of the trees lengthening slowly toward the front porch. Remus sits by the window wrapped in a flannel shirt and two old jumpers, spectacles dangling absently from one hand.

Dumbledore's letters still sit on the table in a careless stack, surrounded by a whirlwind of open books and two neglected cups of tea. There is dog hair on the sofa, a sock peeking out from underneath it. Two pairs of boots sit drying on the doormat, and Remus thinks (ruefully, and with great certainty) that the cupboards in the kitchen have never been so disorganized in their existence.

A scarf drops over his shoulders. Remus blinks and looks up.

"Hullo, Moony," says Sirius.

"Sirius." Remus smiles, looking down at the familiar Gryffindor stripes. He touches the wool, bright and warm and suspiciously unworn. "Where did you get this from?"

"Harry mailed me a couple of extras."

" _Harry_ did?" Remus says, skeptical.

"Well, Hermione made them."

"Ah."

Sirius grins crookedly and sits down behind him, wrapping an arm around his belly. "Happy Christmas, Moony."

Remus shades his eyes, looking west. The sunset from the hilltop is spectacular.


End file.
